


be good, bring joy

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Love Confessions, M/M, White Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 17:23:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3577734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Akaashi is surprisingly dense. Bokuto is surprisingly shy. And there are no chocolates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	be good, bring joy

**Author's Note:**

> so for the casual ‘white day’ challenge i panicked so much i just wrote kurodaisuga porn instead and felt like i cheated out of it so here is something more concretely about it. thanks to the whittlebae as always for being so excellent to me, what would i do without u
> 
> title cribbed from the teddy bears' song 'to know him, is to love him' (covered by the late amy winehouse). builds a trebuchet and launches myself into the stratosphere because bokuaka

Keiji puts no thought into the days of the week.

He’s always glad that his homeroom teacher sees fit to write the date down on the board--and some days are inherently easy to remember. December 25th, January 1, February 14th.

“Who are _you_ going to give them to?” is probably the most frequent question Keiji hears people ask, girls to girls, in furtive whispers. It’s usually followed by a “What if he doesn’t like me,” and Keiji has to wonder--

\--who wouldn’t like someone who made them chocolate?

 

 

He doesn’t have a sweet tooth. He knows guys who do: Bokuto-san once ate an entire bag of candy on a school-sponsored bus trip, he knows, and has the requisite kaomoji in his inbox to prove it. Keiji has practice on the fourteenth of February, as he does nearly every day of the week when the Spring High looms ever closer.

The thud-slam sound of volleyballs is already ringing in his ears when he comes into the gym, school bag slung over his shoulder. He can see his teammates already running laps around the gym, performing brief stretches, and a familiar pale-haired head that lets out a loud cry when he sees Keiji.

Bokuto-san tucks the volleyball in his hands under an arm and makes a running start for Keiji that he braces himself to somehow catch. “Hello,” he says automatically, before he is even in hearing distance of Bokuto-san; not that he has to worry about it the other way around. Keiji can always hear Bokuto-san arrive and go. “Did you have a nice day, Bokuto-san?”

Bokuto-san slows down until he just walks--and it’s surprising to see him in a mode of transportation that Keiji doesn’t see so frequently. Bokuto-san is always running, or thundering, or somehow power-walking everywhere. “No, not really,” he says at last, mouth downturned. “Valentine’s Day. Too much chocolate.”

It makes sense that Bokuto-san is so popular. Keiji considers the idea of nobody ever asking Bokuto-san out and it’s ludicrous: he is loud--but funny, very funny--and considerate. Keiji takes the volleyball from Bokuto-san, twirls it between his palms. “Did you get sick?”

“No, not this year.” He puffs out his chest, as if keeping down a stomachache’s worth of candy was somehow a point of pride. Keiji considers, briefly, not setting to him for half an hour.

“Akaashi, Akaashi, set to me today, lots, okay?”

The volleyball is so light in Keiji’s hands. “Of course, Bokuto-san.”

 

 

Practice ends in sweat, as it always does. He listens to the “how many did you get?”s and the “she’s so cute, man” comments in the locker room, changes without saying much.

“I wanted to practice more,” Bokuto-san whines, and pouts like a child while they lock up the gym.

Keiji stares through the expression and guesses, “We’re going to the Spring High championships soon, Bokuto-san. What if you injured yourself during practice?”

Bokuto-san brightens. “That’s so true! Fukurodani can’t be without a captain! Vice-Captain Akaashi, you’re the best!”

“And an ace,” Keiji adds, shuffling into his shoes. “We need one of those, too.” It’s satisfying to watch Bokuto-san open and shut his mouth like a wide-eyed fish in a very small aquarium.

 

 

March 14th is strange. He knows it’s not someone’s birthday, and it’s not a calendar holiday; Keiji stares at his homeroom teacher’s neat script on the board and _wonders_.

Bokuto-san greeted him today at the gates, an hour before the early bell. Loudly. Excitedly. Keiji is by no means a morning person--is fairly convinced they don’t really exist--and tolerated the weight of Bokuto-san’s arm around his shoulder. He’d barely managed a “Good morning, Bokuto-san.”

He opened the gym and watched Bokuto-san speed in, flick on the light switches, as he unlocked the supply closet and locker room. He was unusually enthusiastic--which is saying something--and Keiji had stopped him from tripping over the rolled-up net before giving up.

“Akaashi-kun, please read the passage from line six to line fifteen.”

 

 

Keiji doesn’t see Bokuto-san at lunch. He doesn’t see him at all until practice after class, resuming his customary greeting by charging at him as soon as Keiji enters the gym. “Hello, Bokuto-san.” Keiji can’t see anything except for Bokuto-san’s face, which strays strangely close to his. “Did you have a good day?”

He keeps moving on, Bokuto-san’s feet stepping backward in time to match his, and watches their team congregate around them. “We were waiting for you,” Bokuto-san grins. “There’s a strategy that might work for us if we end up bracketing really difficult matches.”

He stays close by, elbow jostling his, and Keiji puts the idea to rest. Bokuto-san is always so fired up at the idea of volleyball--and _winning_. Which is a philosophy Keiji can agree with.

“Akaashi, Akaashi, walk home with me!” The first pair in and the last to leave the gym, as always--but Keiji likes how much time he spends on volleyball. It’s rewarding. “Say you will, come on, it’ll be fun!”

“Can we stop by someplace? And get something?” The question escapes his mouth before he can even catch it. Bokuto-san smiles, an expression worth several million joules. “I guess that means I am walking home with you.”

Bokuto-san’s presence is constant. His mood swings, his behavior, his energy--that fluctuates, but it’s to a pattern that Keiji knows so well that it seems like consistency, to him. He texts quickly, grins down at his phone when it chirps at him in reply, and keeps smiling at Keiji while they plod home. “I’m so broke,” Bokuto-san sighs, tucking his phone and hands into his jacket pockets. “I bought so many people gifts this week!” Keiji counts how many blocks away the nearest convenience store is, and follows Bokuto-san when he turns right. He likes the food selection where they’re going.

“It’s okay, Bokuto-san. I’ll buy my own soft drink.” It’s not uncommon for Bokuto-san to be so generous; with his time, with his pocket money. Keiji spots the bright awning of the store far away.

“Akaashi, if you were a pretty girl, I would buy it. And two more, today!” There it is again, the date. Keiji wonders if there was a national announcement that he’d missed today, some kind of universal message sent out that he inadvertently never read.

“If I were a girl, Bokuto-san, I would play volleyball on a different team.”

“But you’d be really cute, Akaashi!” Bokuto-san says loudly, greeting the store clerk with Keiji before making a beeline for the drink shelves. “You could have said, _Koutarou-kun, I made you these chocolates for Valentine’s Day, will you go out with me?_ ” Keiji watches Bokuto-san fidget with an imaginary box of candy, shoulders hunched down in an attempt to make himself smaller--as if he could shrink his athlete's build.

“Koutarou-kun,” Keiji repeats, deadpan in a way that’s sure to get Bokuto-san’s goat, “I got you this. Will you go out with me?” He hands him a bottle of flavored water, colorful label describing a dozen vitamins and nutrients, and picks one out for himself.

March 14th: White Day. Of course.

Bokuto-san blushes, from the roots of his hair to the line of his jaw. He plucks out the bottle of water and nearly drops it, juggles it midair just to grab it tightly. “Um. Uh? Akaashi? I--I didn’t, uh. I couldn’t hear, briefly, something was buzzing in my ear, could you say that? Again? Um--” 

Keiji fixes him with a stare. Bokuto-san is, as always, a constant. Predictable, in a fond, familiar way. “Koutarou-kun,” he repeats loudly, and stops when Bokuto-san’s face flushes a darker red. He looks like he might die.

He should have known there was some roundabout reason for his exuberance today. Keiji drags him out of the store after paying for both drinks by the bag strap. Bokuto-san is stiff-limbed and ungraceful. Keiji keeps his composure until he’s out of the store to smile.

Bokuto-san looks everywhere save for Keiji’s face. It’s strange, to walk in such silence in his presence. “Bokuto-san.” He watches him practically jump a foot in the air at his name, the flush staying on his ears.

“--Yes? Uh. Yeah?”

“I was only half-joking,” he says frankly. Honesty is, as is usually the case, the best way to deal with Bokuto-san. “I got you a bottle of water. Would you like to go out with me?”

“You--” Bokuto-san’s fish impression is a talented one. “You can’t--are you--did you even--” His words trip over each other. Keiji can sense his face burning, too, but doesn’t take back his words. He really can’t. Not when he means them.

Bokuto-san launches himself at Keiji. With practiced arms, he grounds himself--it’s not hard to catch him, not when he expects it. “Are you serious? Are you actually seriously serious? Are you not joking at all? Half joking? About the water? Yes? Yes!”

(Really, Keiji gets it: it’s not about the chocolates. Or the soft drinks.)

“Akaashi! Akaashi!! Keiji? _Keiji!!_ Set to me a thousand times, okay? And I’ll walk you home every day! I’m gonna stop by your classroom all the time!!! And I won’t eat any chocolates from other people, and I’ll spike every single one of your tosses, and this year when we win the spring tournament we’ll get married--”

Keiji holds up a hand to quell the sudden torrent. “One thing at a time, Bokuto-san.” He can’t stop smiling. “First, let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> bokuto probably unlocks his princess elsa secret diary to write
> 
> FEBRUARY 14TH: AKAASHI SAID I WAS A GOOD ACE  
> MARCH 14TH: AKAASHI CALLED ME 'KOUTAROU'


End file.
